The Fall
by senoritablack
Summary: Daryl doesn't want to go home and Rick really doesn't mind that. A summer fling au


June came in like an affectionate whisper, warm, coloring his skin red when he sat in the balding grass in front of his torn down house for too long.

Daryl couldn't afford sunscreen.

He couldn't afford much, was the thing, which is why, when school let out, and the other kids went off on their family vacations, he was sure he'd be stuck in his small town.

He expected, like every summer, that his days be spent in his room, or worse, on the couch next to his dad, flipping the channels when he said to and making sure his beer hand wasn't empty.

He hadn't expected to befriend Lydia and Anthony's boy, Rick.

Rick Grimes, a year older than him at 17, rode his bike passed his block once. Then a second. Daryl ain't ever going to forget that third time he did because Rick stopped, threw his bike to the ground, and with crooked smile that match his gait, offered him a hand as to introduce himself.

Daryl ain't ever going to forget his fingers going limp in the shake, his palms sweating, and how he bit back his own smile for fear he'd never be able to turn it down.

"Rick," he had said plainly, cool, and with that damn smile. "I've noticed you don't do much when you're out here. How come?"

"Ain't got much to do." Daryl had mumbled, looking up at him, a hand shading his eyes from the sun.

Rick Grimes, man, Daryl didn't expect to meet him at all.

Nosy, loud and never failing to let the conversation falter, asking nonsensical questions damn near about everything - whys, how, how comes. That Rick Grimes had him talking more than he ever did in his life, even as short of replies as he'd give.

"Yeah." he would answer, fast, murmured. "No."

"d'like to one day."

"Maybe."

Then he had noticed that they were doing this everyday for weeks, just sitting around on his muddy, sorry excuse for a lawn until the crickets started getting rowdy. Daryl started find that he was beginning to talk more louder and laugh a little longer, and even that he asked a few questions himself.

"Yeah, he can't pitch for shit." He would say.

"I think the educated man calls that bullshit, Mr. Grimes."

"What d'ya reckon, they gunna make to the finals?"

-/-

June didn't leave without a day of their grass talks in the sun, and when the Fourth of July came, his parent's called him in to dinner early that afternoon.

With a salute, Rick was off.

Daryl went inside and saw that his mother tried to tidy a bit, that his father was sat the table rather than the sofa, and that there was even real, boiled corn next to the microwave meatloaf. They watched footage of the town's Fourth of July parade on the television, and for the first time in a long while, Daryl felt like he was at home.

Wasn't long until the illusion ended, because Daryl went to go and collect the dishes, but dropped one from the stack he was sure he had a decent enough grip on. His pop came at him with a litany of curse words and a bottle of jack to the side of stomach. He screamed out for his ma, but she was nearly passed out on the couch, her half finished cigarette held loosely between two fingers.

After he finished cleaning, he apologized to his dad, agreeing with him that he wasn't as good as Merle, the model soldier, and took that cigarette from his ma's fingers before it could fall to the carpet. Watery eyed, he took a long drag as he gathered up and pulled their lone telephone into his room.

He sat on his bed and stamped out the cigarette on his nightstand before the line even began to ring.

"Mrs Grimes, i-it's Daryl Dixon. Down Cascade Lane?"

"Yes, Debbie's son! How are ya, darlin?"

"I'm er, fine. I'm sorry that it's so late, ma'am, but I was wonderin if I could just talk to Rick for a minute or two?"

"Sure thing, sweetie pie. Let me go and grab him for ya, ok, hun?"

Her voice hung on him like honey coating a sore throat, and it had him wishing she'd stay on the line with him saying – well, anything while he waited.

"I got it ma, you can hang up now!" he heard Rick yell. "Daryl? What's going on, bud?"

The fact that Rick sounded concerned made Daryl's ears hot, holding back tears that threatened to shed once again.

"Look, d'wanna hangout?" He asked.

The following silence made Daryl nervous. He picked at the chips of paint on his bed's railings and pulled at the fringe of his beaten up comforter. He'd of hung up, but he heard shuffling, buttons being pressed, and finally a door being slammed shut.

"I know of college party, right by the Sutterfield Barn and the beach? You interested?" Rick finally said.

Daryl wasn't one for parties. Beside the fact he was hardly ever invited to them, he thought they were too loud, two insincere, full of fake conversations and fleeting happiness. He was about to say so, but Rick cut him off.

"Be ready in ten." He said, and hung up before Daryl even had a chance to protest.

Daryl stomach twisted with something different all together.

Party or not, he was glad that he was going to get out of the house. Pulling on his best flannel and least holed jeans, he found himself looking himself over in his window, wondering what Rick'd think.

He didn't get to dwell on it because as fast as the thought propped up, there was Rick in person, tapping on his sill. He tapped to the beat of one of his favorite songs, something he told him a few days back, smiling like the idiot he knew he was until Daryl went to lift it open.

"Gotta front door, you know? Ain't that poor!" Daryl laughed, hoping to disguise the haggard of his voice.

"I know." Rick chuckled, climbing into the window. "S'more fun this way, I think."

Daryl grabbed at his hand, wanting to give him something to hold on to. He honestly didn't think much of it until he realized Rick hadn't let go.

"You look nice." Rick said and Daryl pulled his hand away so fast his body shifted with it, almost falling to the floor if Rick hadn't caught him.

"I've got you." Rick whispered.

Close as they were, Daryl could feel the other boy's heart beat at his wrist and chest – overworked and thumping asymmetrical to his own.

"So am I suppose to climb out with you?" Daryl asked, surprised even that he could speak.

Rick smiled.

"Yeah, s'more fun that way."

-/-

So they snuck out of his window, and drove down to the bay in Rick's father's little blue pickup. They talked about sports and huntin', 'bout school and those little cookies filled with the cream in the middle, and in bit of time where they weren't talkin', Daryl'd just close his eyes and listen to the night, sticking a hand out the window, catch the wind underneath his palm.

-/-

It wasn't but a 35 minute ride, and they were there. Daryl could see the full band and red solo cups as they pulled in. He noticed how the barn was all lit up in twinkly lights, giving glow to the faces that weren't already illuminated by headlights of the cars that circled them. People sat on the hoods with their drinks, lovers locked by lip and hip on loose gravel, swinging to the twang of the upright bass and guitar and he was so invested in the sight that he didn't even notice Rick guiding him by the small of his back towards a cooler chalk full of beer.

"My cousin Shane goes to Georgia State. He told me about this." Rick said, passing him a one.

Daryl didn't hear him right, though, he was too busy staring at the two men embraced by a tall oak.

"What was that?" he asked, tearing himself away and grabbing the beer.

"Said my cousin Shane goes to Georgia State. Should be here by now." Rick took a long swig of his beer and Daryl didn't know what to do but follow suit, swallowing half of his in one go.

"That or drunk off his ass and getting it on with some poor, undeserving woman down by the water."

They laughed, hips leaning into the car, finishing their beers in silence, both watching the dirt party goers kicked up in the air dance in the light.

One beer became three, for Rick and Daryl, and then three become five. They drunk until they were both as red in the cheeks, and wobbled-legged as the rest of them.

"What's the point of goin' down to the beach, if none of us are getting in the water? What's with that?"

"No one is stopping us." Rick said, his eyesbrows high.

"I didn't mean us," grunted Daryl. "I meant, you know, folk."

"We're folk, I think." Rick said, a slightly manic smile on his face. He threw down his bottle and grabbed Daryl by his forearm, and snuck them down the least rocky path to the water.

"You ready?" Rick howled, running when they got closer.

"You're crazy, " Daryl yelled back, but ran after him.

They ran, laughing, peeling off shoes and shirts. They ran right into the ocean, and wave covered them up to their waists.

"Fuck!"

"Fucking! Fuck! Dammit, it's cold! Rick, man."

"Holy shit! This was a bad idea!" Rick laughed. "Holy shit! Summer water my ass, I'm going to freeze my balls off!"

Daryl laughed so hard that he lost his footing, and for the second time that night, Rick was at his side before he could fall.

"Woulda been shame if would have just let you sink, huh?" Rick smirked, his teeth clicking together.

"You wouldn't do it. You're my hero." Daryl said without any real expression, but smirked anyway.

Rick didn't reply, only watch himself brush the back of his fingers down Daryl's cheek, leaving a thumb at his chin as the rest coiled underneath his jaw.

"Rick?" Daryl whispered, suddenly feeling like it wasn't the water that had him shivering.

"Don't hate me." Rick just said. "Please don't hate me."

The kiss was teasing, and beer sweet. And when Rick lifted both his hands to cup Daryl's face, Daryl held onto his wrist, if only as a reminder; if only in an act of proving to himself of that moment's reality.

Rick slowly pulled away from Daryl, his face scrounged up in guilt as he opened his eyes.

"We should get out this fuckin water." Daryl said.

"That's all you're gunna give me?" Rick asked with a lifted brow. Daryl kissed him quick on the lips.

"That's all."

"Well, if _that's all_."

-/-

The rest of July was spent in the bed of that old, blue pickup. It went in several hand-me-down sleeping bags under the stars, their sounds echoing into the night, their fervent hymns rivaling the cicadas in the trees.

-/-

August, well, neither of them were ready for August.

It was a Tuesday when Rick took Daryl down to the beach again. It was after they got settled, Daryl taking off his shirt that Rick finally asked the question he'd was foolishly hopping he'd never have to answer.

"They're nothin'," Daryl coughed, turning away from Rick to watch the children in wade in the water.

"S'not nothing. Who did this to you?" Rick said, tracing the lash down Daryl's back.

Daryl had sprung up at that, and swiped up his shirt and shoved it on. He was halfway to the parking lot when Rick caught up with him.

"Daryl, wait. I'm sorry, ok?" Rick said, combing a hand through his curly hair.

"Why now? Why today, huh? After all those times we…" Daryl lowered his voice. "You ain't ever cared before."

"I did, Daryl, I..." Rick paused. "I didn't want to push."

"Well what are ya expecting me to tell ya, man? That my dad is a prick and my mom is usually too boosed up to notice how he takes whatever it is he has on him to my back? Yesterday it was the wire side of a flyswatter, s'that what ya wanted to hear?"

Daryl wiped furiously at his eyes, then swung the door to Mr. Grimes' truck open and sat inside.

"Daryl?" Rick climbed in after him. "You know I got you right?"

"I got you." He said again, and when Rick pulled him into a hug, Daryl didn't resist. Daryl, despite his best effort to be mad, knew it wasn't Rick he was mad at.

"I got you." Rick repeated once more as Daryl clung on to the heart of his t-shirt.

-/-

September comes in like lemonade after a long day under the sun, rejuvenating him, showering him in a sweetness he forgot he deserved when he climbs into Rick's window after his parents fall asleep. Lying next to him, Daryl's head tucked underneath his neck and holding a hand at his side, he knows. Feeling Rick press his lip to his mess of hair, he knows.

It's the start of a fall.


End file.
